didn’t have this in mind when thinking of what to write about

I didn’t want to write about Mother’s Day, although I have been thinking about my mother a lot recently. Our grandson who just turned 7 the other day was born right before she died, so I always think about her on his birthday. On top of that, this year her yahrzeit, the Hebrew date of her death, comes up very early, as these things cycle through. It’s next week. The Gregorian date is June 5. So having it come into May sort of gets me thinking more and more about her.

There is a boy in our community whose birthday is the same day as my mother’s death. I remember that so very well. We celebrated his birthday at school; I went home and ate a green apple, and got the phone call. This young man got called up to the Torah as a bar mitzvah yesterday.

So you see, it’s on my mind.

My father called a little while ago with bad news. Sometimes he can say he’s got bad news, but you can hear the giggle in the back of his voice that let’s you know he’s kidding. Today there was no giggle. No tickle. Just the news.

It was a nice day today, but I never felt warm, even outside. The temperature dropped just now significantly, which makes sense to me.

I had called my brother earlier in the day to wish him a happy birthday, but he wasn’t home.

Good for him.

What my father had to share was that a cousin of mine had a heart attack and died. We have not been close since really ever, even though we were very close with the rest of that side of the family. My aunt, who also married into the family and is now only one of 3 in-laws left out of 10, had called him. They are not involved in Judaism in any significant way and are having some kind of memorial service on Tuesday. My father did not press her for more information. We could not remember the sister’s name. I had to go to our Geni site, request a new password, since I had not bothered remembering it, and look up the family tree.

My cousin had just turned 61.

Too close for comfort and too far away, also.

tied to expectations

Just yesterday, one of our younger members of our congregation asked if she could ask me a question.

Of course.

“Does your husband only wear white shirts?”

After I stopped laughing, I said how I had just told him (at home) I was really tired of his white shirts. I had just washed and hung up the five million from the previous week, and it had just gotten to me.

I didn’t add that second part.

But I did add that our spouse is not a reflection of us.

I had also just commented how amazing it was that her dress matched her husband’s tie. Perfectly. But I had absolutely no recall of what tie ISHI was wearing.

I did tell her that second part.

I also told her that his response to me was that he was thinking about getting some other colors, but couldn’t find one that he liked. He wasn’t going to go with the purple or the pink.

What about blue, both of us asked at the separate times.

He hemmed and hawed when I asked.

Oh what can I do?

After 37 years of marriage, you think I’d have given up by now, trying to dress him in my image.

She also said “What about black?”  Yeah, so he’s not going to go for this. He likes the Lands’ End shirts, but in black?

There’s only so much you can do.

I do know many women who dress their husbands. I complimented one man a few weeks ago on his put-together look and he was pleased to admit that his wife put him together. It’s a fascinating process. I can suggest things that I think will be more fitting (in all senses of the word) and he’ll do something of the sort, but then he’ll end up with what’s comfortable.  For him. When we’re on vacation, he will “please” me by wearing a non-button down shirt. But I can see that he’s not really himself.

At least he runs in running wear and not in his shirt and tie.

My father on his last visit got on his peeved face (that he does so well) and told me that he was not going to give ISHI any more ties for his birthday. He noticed that ISHI does not wear any of the ties that he has given him, so even though he thinks it’s very important for rabbis to look sharp, he basically was announcing that he’s giving up. He then went on about how much he thinks well of certain rabbis with their French cuffs, neat handkerchiefs, and well-executed Windsor knotted ties. At least ISHI is thin, or I think he would not be stomach  him as his SIL.

The day before, I had asked D#1 if she thought her husband would wear the tie that ISHI was ready to give away, since it was not “him.” She replied that he was not choosy and would be very happy to accept it. He had never been given any tie. And he’s a grateful kind of guy. Even if he didn’t like it, he’d still wear it happily.

My father had not mentioned that he saw him wearing it; after all, he could have bought or been given the same one.

Our other SIL also receives ties from my father. He is also a rabbi.

My father is out to make sure these rabbis look according to his image.

Clothes make the man.

Of course, we could go back to the Talmud for an idea of how a rabbi should dress:

The personal appearance of the rabbi should command respect. R. Johanan said, “The rabbi should appear as clean and pure as an angel.” He quoted, “They shall seek the law at his mouth, for he is the angel of the Lord Sebaoth” (Mal. ii. 6, Hebr.; Mak. 17a). The Rabbis generally dressed in long, flowing white robes, and sometimes wore gold-trimmed official cloaks (Giṭ. 73a).

Okay, white shirts it is.

how to explain tweeting to my father

and other questions I got from him yesterday:

1. “If I found some apple strudel in his freezer, and I defrosted it, can I re-freeze it? Actually, there were 2, but I’m eating most of one while we talked.” Yes; if it survived so long without noticeable freezer burn (“what’s that?”), it can be thrown back again. What about cutting it up into pieces so you can have some? “Why would I do that?”
2. “Did you talk to your sister?
3. Did you tell her she shouldn’t be talking to so many people?
4. Did you tell her that she should take it easy after the long night in the hospital with your nephew?
5. Did she tell you everything would be okay and did you believe her?” Yes. No. No; she’ll do what she needs to. No. Just you.
6. “Did you talk to your daughter? Did she get back from Israel okay? Is everything set now?” Yes. She found a nice apartment with beautiful views and space–4 bedrooms. “I’m coming!” Yes, she’s counting on it.
7. Why are there not enough personnel at the local post office and why are they hiring more at congress? How can I find out how many staff people there are in a congressman’s office? And what is Legistorm? And what is the tweet that they want me to see there? Why would I want to do that?

Okay, what?

I don’t know what Legistorm is and why do they want you to tweet?

So I walked out of the kitchen to my computer and found this:

About Us

LegiStorm launched in September 2006 to bring valuable information about the people of Congress to the public. We became widely known by being the only online source for staff salaries, financial disclosures, trips, gifts and earmarks. We’ve expanded our offerings to include the most accurate and up-to-date contact information and the most detailed intelligence on Hill staffers available.

Based on Capitol Hill, LegiStorm separates itself from other congressional information providers by the depth and quality of our research about the staff that are so critical to decision-making on Capitol Hill. While others struggle with the most basic information about the people of Capitol Hill, we go far beyond to provide educational backgrounds, employment histories, social media links, hometowns, hobbies and activities, family connections, and much more.

We are fiercely non-partisan. We receive no funding from any political group apart from their paid subscriptions to our products.

LegiStorm was founded to bring greater transparency to the workings of Capitol Hill and we are committed to creating products to help make our democracy work better. We provide basic information about congressional staff salaries and other information for free, on limited basis, as a service to the general public.

LegiStorm is focused on our clients and committed to meeting their needs. We’re still growing. We recognize that our clients are the experts in their fields and by working with them; we’ll create products and services that set industry standards.

So now, backstory: My father has been trying to go to the Post Office closest to him in LA for the past week. Every time he has tried to go in, the lines have been out the door. One day, it was actually closed, since there is only one woman working there and she had to go to lunch. Or something close to this. I wasn’t really paying enough attention to this story, I must admit. It kept growing, so then I tried to pay attention. So he was told that this was because of the cutting back in government. But then (and I really admit I don’t remember who told him about this site) he saw a headline that Gary Ackerman doubled his staff salaries before leaving office!

And that’s when it became personal. How can this be for real, if we’re getting shafted?

And what is this Storm Feed?

StormFeed

StormFeed gives you access to every press release and official Tweet from every office on the Hill, every time, in real-time. Miss something? No problem: StormFeed is full-text searchable.

Oh. Thank G-d!

That will make things easy for him!

So I actually proceeded to tell him about this week’s Torah portion (specifically Leviticus 14: 4) and the process of healing that the person afflicted with the condition known as tzara’at (poorly translated as leprosy, but it’s not a purely physical condition) had to go through, which included the gathering of two birds. When you hear birds chirping, and you don’t know what they’re saying, it sounds like nonsense. And the person who was afflicted with this tzara’at should know that what s/he said, especially if it was against someone else, was just nonsense. And so that’s what tweeting is; just nonsense.

“But when I hear birds tweeting, I look up and listen and am very happy.”

Oh, so forget about it. I forget that you live in LA and don’t hear birds all the time. So it is a treat for you.

So treat the tweets the same way you would something you don’t like.

Like cutting back postal workers while congressmen continue to live large.

Watch our, U.S. government; you have no idea who you’re dealing with!

what makes a village work?

During the holiday, our littlest one was showing signs of unease, not really able to calm down, over-nursing and then returning it too soon. And we checked the back of the neck for fever, asked about the diapers (I for sure thought it was too much matzah on the part of our daughter, but she claimed that she wasn’t eating that much to make her have a problem), was she pulling on her ears, and you know, the usual things you do to try to figure out why a baby isn’t happy. But it wasn’t getting better and we were all getting worried, so we dispatched ISHI to the neighbor’s. In the past, we’ve had to trek out to neighbors who live at least a half-hour away, when the kiddies were here and someone got sick over Shabbat or a Jewish holiday. But these neighbors have moved in recently and the wife is a pediatrician! Three houses away!!! Sure enough, the wife would be home soon and would be happy [the husband was sure] to come over to check the baby out.

And she did, stepping over the thousands of Legos and game pieces and food boxes and people and chairs. And she ever so calmly checked her out, ruling out basically everything. They retired to a quiet room and she (well, actually both she’s) eventually fell asleep and calmed down.

The neighbor doctor came back, a little while later, bringing a thermometer. We mentioned that we didn’t have one, so…

I never used a thermometer when my kids were little. I could tell hot from normal with my hand. Today, everything is digital. I understand.

Today, I went over to their house, bringing a plant and returning the thermometer. The husband had just pulled into the driveway (I actually tried to bring it over the other day, but no one was home), so it was good timing. He was happy to get the plant–he’s into gardening–and it’s around her birthday time, so definitely welcome. But please, keep the thermometer–they’re always getting free samples.

He was happy to volunteer his wife to come over, because that’s what community is. We help each other. And he was happy we thought of them and of course, she was happy to be useful, although she’d prefer that it not be for emergencies.

Do you hear the wistfulness in my words?

Before I walked over there, I had spent a little while raking the front yard of the leaves that had escaped in the fall. There was a young woman who walked by with her baby in the stroller and she marveled at the leaf scoops I was using. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before. We did not exchange names, just suggestions for where to buy the scoops.

Before that, I said hi to my neighbor, who had just come back from a bike ride. We exchanged pleasantries about how nice it is to have our homes back to ourselves, now that our kids have gone back to their homes after the holiday, and we both knew we were lying.

Before that, I had been raking and thinking how much I will not miss this, when we move to Israel. I also thought about the Skype conversation we had with our daughter and her little one in Israel, the same little one who we had been worried about just a week earlier, who seemed to be finding the right mixture of good elements for their upcoming move there this summer. Housing, schools, jobs–hopefully, and with G-d and the villages’ help, they will be successful.

Because yesterday, I had seen (via Facebook) an article in the Los Angeles Times about the Kvetch Circle.

(Illustration by Wes Bausmith / Los Angeles Times)

Here are the rules. The person in the center ring can say anything she wants to anyone, anywhere. She can kvetch and complain and whine and moan and curse the heavens and say, “Life is unfair” and “Why me?” That’s the one payoff for being in the center ring.

Everyone else can say those things too, but only to people in larger rings.

When you are talking to a person in a ring smaller than yours, someone closer to the center of the crisis, the goal is to help. Listening is often more helpful than talking. But if you’re going to open your mouth, ask yourself if what you are about to say is likely to provide comfort and support. If it isn’t, don’t say it. Don’t, for example, give advice. People who are suffering from trauma don’t need advice. They need comfort and support. So say, “I’m sorry” or “This must really be hard for you” or “Can I bring you a pot roast?” Don’t say, “You should hear what happened to me” or “Here’s what I would do if I were you.” And don’t say, “This is really bringing me down.”

If you want to scream or cry or complain, if you want to tell someone how shocked you are or how icky you feel, or whine about how it reminds you of all the terrible things that have happened to you lately, that’s fine. It’s a perfectly normal response. Just do it to someone in a bigger ring.

Comfort IN, dump OUT.

I know I’m combining themes here, but not really.

How do we effectively take care of people? How do we create a caring society? How do we let people have a clue? How I am grateful for a community where we do try to work this out.

But on the other hand, when people refuse to let themselves be truly cared for, that village is in trouble. When the inner circle is so tightly wound, you just might not be able to have real support.

Now what do we do about that?

the meaning of the need for creativity

At least in the kitchen.

Along with some of the criticisms thrown out at people for overdoing their Pesach preparations, with the tart comments that we confuse dirt with chametz, comes the underlying snideness that we women should just keep everything simple, implying we’re the ones making things difficult. ( See [or don't] the OU Guide to Passover, pages 20-23, In the Merit of Righteous Women, for a particularly offensive attitude.)

I do remember my mother complaining (although in a very reserved way, compared to how I would do it, for sure!) how we children didn’t appreciate having different things for dinner and it seemed like we would like to have hamburger every night. And when we said, “YES!”, she did not listen to us, and how ironic that is/was, since two of us turned into vegetarians and the other I don’t think would enjoy eating hamburger every night and has entertained going veggie a few times, too…

And then there’s the opposite track of women who make their careers in making us feel underinspired (I wrote about this at least once ‘way back in ’09) and overstressed. I’m not going there. So why the need to look for the new recipes? Why not just go for the old?

Well, it’s exactly because we are doing the chores of the cleaning that we can use the creative force of the new. It’s to make it interesting. I said it in ’09, and Shakespeare said it in the early 1600′s; the play’s the thing.

We need to be more than drones. We need to be more than slaves.

To anything.

Although I do not doubt the creativity of field or factory workers, I am grateful for creative outlets, even if I am imposing them upon others.

For example, while taking a break from my reorganization of the playroom (which is now completely deconstructed, alas), I found a recipe for a coconut crust. EASY–GREAT!

INGREDIENTS:

1 1/2 cups flaked coconut

3 tablespoons butter

DIRECTIONS:

1.	Mix coconut and butter or margarine together. Press mixture into an 8 or 9 inch pie plate.
2.	Bake at 325 degrees F (165 degrees C) for 15 minutes, or until golden.

Easy enough!

And then I found Herve This’ Chocolate Mousse. No eggs. Amazing!

Genius Recipes says: It took a brilliant, adventurous chemist to discover the simplest way to make chocolate mousse at home. Hervé This, the father of molecular gastronomy, discovered how to make a flawless, creamy chocolate mousse out of just chocolate and water.

This all happens fast as the mixture cools, so chances are you’ll go too far on your first try. Don’t worry — just return it to the pan, melt it, and start over (see step 3). Once you have the rhythm down, you can flavor it as you wish with liqueurs or coffee or spices, sweeten it to your liking, or just keep it dark and intense. In all of these scenarios, a little whipped cream up top is never a bad idea. Adapted from Molecular Gastronomy: Exploring the Science of Flavor (Columbia University Press, 2008) (less)

Serves 4

• 3/4 cup (6 ounces) water
• 8 ounces chocolate (we used 70% bittersweet — choose a high quality chocolate you love)
• ice cubes
• whipped cream for topping (optional)

1. Simply pour water into a saucepan (which will be improved from the gastronomic point of view if it is flavored with orange juice, for example, or cassis puree). Then, over medium-low heat, whisk in the chocolate. The result is a homogenous sauce.
2. Put the saucepan in a bowl partly filled with ice cubes (or pour into another bowl over the ice — it will chill faster), then whisk the chocolate sauce, either manually with a whisk or with an electric mixer (if using an electric mixer, watch closely — it will thicken faster). Whisking creates large air bubbles in the sauce, which steadily thickens. After a while strands of chocolate form inside the loops of the whisk. Pour or spoon immediately into ramekins, small bowls or jars and let set.
3. Note: Three things can go wrong. Here’s how to fix them. If your chocolate doesn’t contain enough fat, melt the mixture again, add some chocolate, and then whisk it again. If the mousse is not light enough, melt the mixture again, add some water, and whisk it once more. If you whisk it too much, so that it becomes grainy, this means that the foam has turned into an emulsion. In that case simply melt the mixture and whisk it again, adding nothing.
4. Serve immediately, or refrigerate. Top with whipped cream if desired.

But would it work? It was the perfect thing to give to my houseguest and my two big girls to find out! You think I would have time for that? I found the chocolate–that was enough for me!

Guess what! It works!

Did it take a very long time? Yes!

Did it make a huge mess? Yes!

Was it amazing in the coconut crust?

Yes:)!

And that is enough for this year!

things left behind so far

this Pesach holiday, some on purpose and some with no knowledge as of yet:

1. one sock, older daughter’s (don’t worry–it’s being washed)
2. one marker pen top (I have no idea where the pen is)
3. one colored pencil. Nope, the top does not fit on that.
4. one page that came out of a book of Mishnayot. I know that’s my SIL, since I had finally convinced him to go sit at my desk to work, rather than at the table with the cream cheese, butter, chocolate powder, and matzah crumbs, and Legos.
5. one Philadelphia synagogue directory
6. 3 books that I had just given the children as gifts from Australia (but not the  Diary of a Wombat that I had just given our 3 year-old as an afikoman present and who has already memorized it!)
7. two full pairs of socks, a number of underwear (boys and girls), a hairbrush, a tallis bag, boy’s dress pants,
8. and thousands of used towels and sheets (okay, sets for 16 people, plus 2 babies with their own bedding)
9. an I need a new word to describe the amount of empty boxes from matzah, 19 dozen eggs (yes, you heard me, folks!), wine, and more wine, bottles and boxes, and okay some grape juice, tissues, new shoes, Amazon deliveries for us and our guests (oh yes, we had another couple stay with us the whole week, as well!),

And that’s just downstairs…

I have photos.

Lots of photos.

From our outings to the aquarium and to the park.

And from our innings (:)) at home. With the babies holding hands and the older cousins being amazed and amused.

And lots of memories of the singing and the playing and the smiling and the laughing.

And just not enough time.

I think that’s the key to the whole thing, the small part of the holiday standing in for the whole experience of LIFE, that is, that we just won’t ever learn to understand and appreciate time.

That’s what the Jews needed to learn as they left Egypt; that’s what the rabbis tried to understand in our Haggadah (why else is there so much discussion about days, nights, and the Days-to-Come?), and us today.

So let’s say that we need to learn how to let it all out; fly our kite to the highest that we can.

 

Letting go and

holding on.

or lean to the side

Okay, so now I switch gears.

As I was listening to the CBS program, I realized there was a whole different kind of leaning going on for us Jews coming up next week, the leaning at the seder table, symbolizing freedom.

And, wouldn’t you know it, there’s a whole lot of discussion about whether women should lean at all. The Talmud states that women were not obligated to lean, since they were not in the same category as men. I’ll leave it there for now. But then, well, I’ll let Erica Brown, from a few years back, describe it:

Fortunately, the famous Ashkenazi codifier of the sixteenth century, the Rama, clarifies this section of the Gemara. He writes, “All women of our time are considered to be important . . . nevertheless, today, reclining is not mandatory for either men or women.” Leaving aside the Rama’s conclusion, he seems to imply that a woman’s role in the community and in her own home expanded and gave her the independence that is a prerequisite for freedom. The Rama was writing more than 400 years ago yet, strangely, we may have regressed to before his day.

Pesach today is rarely a celebration of freedom for women; it marks their annual anticipated enslavement. Rather than marking the creation of an undivided nation, it sadly underlines division into those who uphold the spirit and those who maintain the stomach.

Women have no one to blame in this matter but themselves. When women today use Pesach as an opportunity to clean drapes, they do themselves a spiritual disservice. Unnecessary cleaning takes them away from the original purpose of getting rid of hametz, and leaves no opportunity for Pesach study and enjoying the seder.

Full participation at the seder is only feasible if a husband also removes the hametz, a mitzvah incumbent upon him anyway. When the physical work is divided, the spiritual undertaking is multiplied. So sit back and relax.

See why I think this fits in so well with the previous blentry about lean in/lean out?

What is it that we want for ourselves? Are we bringing ourselves in or putting ourselves down? How we are overwhelmed by choices! How we look to renew our days as of old!… חַדֵּשׁ יָמֵינוּ כְּקֶדֶם

But that’s not what it means, going backwards. It means being renewed, as we would have the energy and the spirit from as before. Not old-fashioned.

As I write, ISHI is finishing vacuuming the cabinets, since I couldn’t see how I would be able to. I am tired from running around from store to store to store today. (Thank you, Purple!)

I am not Suzy Homemaker. I do not enjoy housework. It’s work. I do enjoy creating food dishes, but the tedium of the prep work and the clean-up, in particular, is work. So the only reason that I will dust and clean is in honor of guests. Really, that’s it. So thank G-d for guests, because the house does need the cleaning up every once in a while. (spring?)

So why am I the one who does it? I think I pay attention to things.

ISHI just said he forgot to ask me to get macaroons for his siyyum on Monday (finishing the section of the Talmud that gives a reason to skip the fast day. That’s a basic responsibility of the rabbi, although others do it on a regular basis.)

Has he ever asked me to get them before? Have I ever forgotten?

Oh synchronicity!

So to end this, because I do have to get back to finishing the turn-over to Pesach kitchen, I will quote from Rabbi Reuven Spolter, who wrote an excellent article about leaning during the seder:

As important as the Ra’avyah’s position is, the bottom line is that
everyone –men and women –must lean during the Seder. Unless
someone suffers from a medical condition that would preclude
them from leaning comfortably, halachah considers leaning an
integral aspect of the Seder experience. Sorry.
There’s still the question of how. What’s the best and most proper
way to lean? Ideally, get yourself a lectus triclinaris – or at least a
chaise lounge. Place it next to the table, spend the night leaning to
the left, eating grapes and living like a king. Barring that, one must
lean to the left on something and not in the air, and lean the
entire body and not just the head. I’d like to also add the
suggestion of Rabbi Eliezer Melamed (the Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivat
Har Brachah) writes in his book Peninei Halachah on Pesach (page
226):
Instead of sitting straight upright against the back of the
chair, one should pull his rear-end forward to the center
of the chair, such that he is able to lean his back on the
backing of the chair and lean himself towards the left.
In other words, nowadays the best way to lean on Pesach night is
to…slump. What better symbol of freedom could there ever be?
Throughout our childhood, our mothers told us to sit up straight
and not slump in our chairs. On this night we slump!
Finally, on this night, we are free to practice bad posture. Just
make sure that you’ve got the number of a chiropractor handy.
And have a wonderful, happy and Kosher Pesach!

Indeed!

Memories of simpler times

From Facebook:

Translation: The moment when we hide from Mom when cleaning for Pesach.

Okay, so maybe not simpler times. I do miss the kids helping out with cleaning.

I don’t miss the kids not helping out with cleaning.

They were pretty good, really.

They made it harder, really.

It’s not the searching for chametz that’s the problem, really [yes I am really aware that I have used the word repeatedly]; it is all the peripherals. I was remembering having to safety-pin up our boys’ pants hems because I had absolutely no chance to sew them. How dare they grow right before the holidays, after all?

Oh, I miss that.

No I don’t. Not for a second. I just wonder where the time went. I miss my youth, as in, I am missing it.

I just took a break from cleaning because my nose and eyes have had enough. I was cleaning out a fan in one of the bedrooms that was so dirty that there really could have been chametz there; who knows?

After all, it’s the step before the search for chametz. We are mightily aware of the paradox of the confusion of chametz and dirt. This is what we declare (thanks, Aish).

Dust of the earth? Ashes to ashes? What we are made from? Is it all one?

What is real, really?

Clearly my head needs clearing.

no, really it was duchess drooper!

The pharmacy just sent me a link saying I had $4 in bonus bucks to claim. All I had to do was sign in, with my password.

Sigh…

I don’t have a memory of it; I can’t find it in my saved passwords, so I asked for a hint.

They sent me a new link, asking for the name of my childhood pet.

Whew–I know that one. Duchess Drooper, the basset hound. Isn’t that a great name? We called her Duchess for short.

We had other pets, including dogs and cats, but I would have thought that was the one I would have mentioned.

Apparently not.

[Wait a minute--was her name Duchess? I know my nickname or actually my alias was Dorothy Drooper, Private Eye, Dot for Short. But that's another story for another time.]

 

And now, of course, I’m frozen out of the account.

Sigh…

Easy come, easy go and all that.

We called our credit card companies to inform them we’d be travelling this month to destinations heretofore undiscovered. The fellow representing the company where we have mileage said, “Whoa, you got a lot of miles!!!!”

He actually indicated how many, but his tone was pretty much on that level.

Yes, we plan on redeeming them afterwards to pay for this trip.

Car seat arrived, pink Legos arrived, various pajamas and onesies and outfits acquired; I am, thank the Lord, packed.

I’m delaying finishing up some letters and such for work now. I’ll finish them off and then go to sleep.

Thank God we’ll have Shabbat to rest up; the taxi is coming at 4 am on Sunday. Oh that’s just a late Saturday night in my book.

It was 9º this morning here; we’re off to 90° in Australia. I can’t say that I’m not looking forward to that!

But really, I’m really looking forward to tickling our grandchildren in person.

And if we see a few kangaroos and didgeridoos in person, it will be enough.

No, it will be amazing!

And, as the airline lady said as we were confirming all the details of our flight today, “No worries.”

Good enough indeed.

it was great ebbing with all of you

Huh?

That’s the message I got from a cousin of mine after we celebrated our newest granddaughter’s birth with the family and extended friends the other day.

I guess it was auto-correct, but who can be sure? After all, it did include this warning at the bottom of the email:

This e-mail is confidential, intended only for the named recipient(s) above and may contain information that is privileged, attorney work product or exempt from disclosure under applicable law. If you have received this message in error, or are not the named recipient(s), please immediately notify the sender at 123-456-7890 and delete this e-mail message from your computer. Thank you.

*************

Pursuant to U.S. Treasury Department Circular 230, unless we expressly state otherwise, any tax advice contained in this communication (including any attachments) was not intended or written to be used, and cannot be used, for the purpose of (i) avoiding tax-related penalties or (ii) promoting, marketing or recommending to another party any matter(s) addressed herein.

That wouldn’t be on a smartphone, would it, even from a lawyer?

Or did he refer to the robotic NASA twins, named Ebb and Flow,  that crashed on the moon on Monday?

But even so, or either way, I took it as a symbol.

You see,  he’s my older cousin by 10 months. He’s already hit the big birthday and I’m just careening into it tomorrow. And, if we live 120 years, as the Jewish expression goes, then I’m on to the second half, starting then.

So ebbing is correct, in some shape or form.

But what does it mean, in terms of living?

I guess I’ll have to let you know, once I’m on the other side. I know that the older I get, the less wisdom I know I have.

But…

The more curious I get.

Yup, curiouser and curiouser.